Digests: Nablus, Settler Protest and Jayyous

A) 2005: in with a bang in Nablus
B) First Impressions and a Sub-Machine Gun
C) Olive Tree Planting Protest in Jayyous


A) 2005: in with a bang in Nablus

it's around midnight on new year's eve in Nablus. there's a series
of loud bangs and explosions. but no horns, kissing or confetti;
it's just the 7 IOF jeeps setting off sound bombs at the entrance
to the Old City; i don't know if some of it is gunfire or not.

then, new year's day in Balata camp: 2 armored jeeps arrive around
quarter to 7 in the evening. it's hard to describe this without a
map as visual aid, but i'll try. the camp is laid out along 3 main
parallel roads with a few cross streets and lots of narrow
labyrinthine alleys in between.

so, jeep #1 is on the middle road; the resistance fighters are out
as well; we weave our way through the alleys between the north road
and the middle road to try to find a place away from the fighters
where we can still see what's happening. there are so many twists
and turns i'm completely disoriented and would be lost without a
guide.

the jeep lobs some tear gas and sound bombs. there's no good place
for us; we twist and weave our way back, past lots of other people
doing more or less the same thing.

jeep#2 passes the north road, heading north past the entrance, just
as we emerge back there. the shebab have pulled a quick barricade
across the entrance and set a fire in front of it. we sneak by it
and find a vantage point just outside the camp, under the awning of
a shop across the way. jeep #2 waits outside the camp to our left,
beyond the north road, a short way from the entrance we just came
from. more sound grenades, shouting of insults and offkey patriotic
singing through the bullhorn from jeep#2; more teargas from jeep #1.
more stones from the resistance.

as jeep#2 approaches, one of us shouts, "internationals, don't
shoot!" the jeep's response is to floor it straight toward us. it
looks like it's going to hit us, screeching to a halt no more than a
foot or 2 away, and drawing the fire right onto us. there are
chunks of rock and concrete raining down; we retreat into the shop.
after a few moments the jeep leaves and circles around to enter the
camp by another way, avoiding the flaming barricade. we do the same
in the opposite direction and go onto the roof of our flat.

now jeep#2 is parked on the north road, behind the barricade,
directly in front of the mosque; no change from jeep#1. teargas
wafts toward us. 2 rooftops away, young men and boys are bombarding
the jeep below with whatever they can throw: rocks, concrete, glass,
etc. one of them comes over to us and calls across the gap very
politely: are there any rocks on our roof that we could toss over
for them to use?

lucky for me there weren't; it spared me an ethical dilemma. because
at that moment i wished with all my heart that i could have given
them some rocks. in fact at that moment i found myself wishing i
could have jumped the gap [too wide!] and gone to throw them
myself. even though i knew that it would have been grounds for
expelling me from ISM, at that moment, i could not in my heart
believe that such a thing, ie resisting an armored military jeep
with M16s poking out its windows, by showering it with rocks from
above, even big scary heavy rocks, when it had invaded one's home
for the umpteenth agressive provocation, was a violent act. [in any
case, i did nothing...]

finally the jeeps retreat, and the ambulances that are always on
hand in such situations cruise around to make sure everything's ok;
which is generally the sign that it's pretty much over for now. we
go down to make sure our friends are safe; the street is covered
with rubble from the rooftop bombardment. activity slowly resumes.

it is very important to remember that this is just another night in
Balata, not anything out of the ordinary. and i find myself feeling
intense frustration that there's nothing at all we can do about it.
is it enough just to be here? to witness and experience, and not do
anything? is passing on the stories worth anything at all? i hope
so because that's all i can do right now.

here's hoping that 2005 brings closer the justice that peace
requires-- M

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B) First Impressions and a Sub-Machine Gun
By Asa

http://www.winstanleys.org/archive/arrival-sub-machine-gun/
(for photos and blog)

The trip from the airport to Jerusalem and then the taxi to the
training in Ramallah was an enlightening experience in itself. We
had no trouble at the Qalandiya checkpoint outside of Ramallah this
time. The contrast between the sights on the road trip to Jerusalem
and the road trip to Ramallah is striking. The poverty in the West
Bank compared to (for example) the conservative religious Jewish
communities in West Jerusalem is self-evident. There are buildings
that are modern and wealthy looking, though these seemed to be
mostly government buildings. By and large though, even the
relatively prosperous (in West Bank terms) city of Ramallah is very
run down – the lack of investment and the presence of poverty was
clear even on first impressions.

ISM makes the training a requirement of joining them. The two day
session was very useful and covered a lot of practical stuff that we
did not go through in the London training. Afterwards, we were taken
back to Jerusalem to regroup and to decide on our plan of action for
the next day. On our way back in the dark I got my first sight of a
settlement from afar – an imposing site. We passed through another
checkpoint near the settlement, but as westerners we had no trouble
from the soldiers further than checking our ID.

The next day there was a hearing for Mohammed Mansour in the court
based in the Russian compound in East Jerusalem. Mohammad is a
Palestinian peace activist from Biddu who was arrested on a
demonstration in Al Ram (in Jerusalem) against the huge Wall the
Israeli government is currently building within the West Bank (not
in between Israel and Palestine as commonly thought), cutting off
farmers from the their lands, families from each other and dividing
the West Bank into South African style Bantustans. The group of us
new ISMers decided we should support Mohammed at the trial and
challenge this criminalisation of protest by the Israeli state. Only
a few of us managed to get entry to the public gallery, since we
were told that it was full up (which turned out to be untrue – it
was half empty). The rest of us held a small demonstration outside
the court room in an area designated by the police, with banners in
Arabic, English and Danish saying "Free Mohammed Mansour".

What happened next was odd to say the least.

A whole load of Israeli settlers turned up – it might have been
as many as 100, mostly women and children. They were holding a protest
about an unrelated issue (we think it might have been to do with
recent IDF arrests of settlers in Gaza). Their slogans were "The
State Against Jewish Mothers" and the like. They did not turn up
to specifically disrupt our demonstration (and we certainly had no
prior knowledge of theirs) but they soon proceeded to do so
regardless. Some of the settler girls (they could not have been more
than 15) were very aggressive towards us, telling us they "wanted
Mohammad to die" even though they had never hear of him five
minutes ago until we explained to them (on their request) who he was, that
we were "goyim" so we should stay away from them, blocking
our signs even though we were trying to be a separate demonstration,
aggressively blowing whistles in our faces, threatening to kill us
and so on. Sort of shocking, but more sad really. The mothers mostly
just looked on proudly. The police sort of allowed them to get away
with it until near the end when Mohammad left the court, and they
started to get really annoyed with one particularly aggressive
settler girl because she would not stop. The image of the day for me
was a young settler mother with a baby in a sort of cage on wheels
structure who also happened to have an Uzi sub-machine gun slung
over her shoulder. Make of that what you will. Carrying guns openly
in public seems to be very much a part of the culture in Israel –
not just the police and army.

In the hearing itself, the judge delayed the case for another three
months. The hearing lasted only a few minutes. It is important that
anyone who supports the Palestinian cause does all they can to
support Mohammed – the Israeli state has gone after him specifically
because he is involved in non-violent resistance to the occupation
and the illegal Wall.

The afternoon today was a far more pleasant experience. First we in
the group of new arrivals split into two (rather fluid) affinity
groups based on where abouts we wanted to be. One group will be
going to Nablus to join the (very) small group of ISMers there and
the other (including me) will be staying here in Jerusalem during
the election campaign. Next, the Jerusalem group met with a young
Palestinian woman from East Jerusalem called Yousra who told us
about an African community group in the Old City she is involved
with as well as a youth centre which will be opening in Ramallah on
the 15th. Some of us offered our help with both the opening and set-
up of the centre. We also visited the African community centre in
the Old City and Yousra and her cousin invited us to their place
nearby for gorgeous Arab coffee and tea. We spent a good few hours
there enjoying the peerless hospitality of the Palestinian people.
We will be staying in touch.

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C) Olive Tree Planting Protest in Jayyous
By D

30th of December 2004

Myself and ten other Internationals arrive at Qalqilya checkpoint to
camp out on the Israeli side of the Apartheid wall prior to a
symbolic olive tree planting action the following day with Ta'ayush
members (an Israeli peace group). This symbolic planting of olive
saplings is happening on the site of the apartheid wall near the
plundered land of Abu Azzam. We will be staying in a hut on his
stolen earth and then join with the 300 strong Ta'ayush group for
our action in the early afternoon.

Abu Azzam takes me on his tractor along with all the other
internationals baggage. There is no trailer on this baby and our
many backpacks are crammed in around Abu Azzam's body. I am standing
on some kind of suspension chain thingy clinging on for dear life.

We bump through muddy trenches, the tractor sometimes lurching to
capsize point. Wow! All around me are orange and lemon trees this
place is beautiful. The luggage and I are transferred to another
tractor this time one with a trailer phew! I munch tangerines handed
to me by the farm workers.

We arrive at our sleeping destination, a workers hut but really a
well-equipped cottage. The others arrive some time later, and Abu
Azzam tells the tragic story of his stolen land over an evening
campfire.

The initial land for the wall, in Jayyous region was sold by a
farmer to the Israeli state. The Israeli state then looked about
acquiring the surrounding lands but the other farmers refused to
sell. So they just took the land by simply redrawing the maps. In
the case of Abu Azzam they made a quarry of his olive groves and
gave no warning as they blew up his hill. The explosion ricocheted
like an earthquake through his orange groves. Their wicked plan is
to build a settlement, wall and road right across these beautiful
orchards.

The next day's action is to plant tiny olive saplings along the
scars created from bulldozing the land and then march to the gateway
separating Jayyous's lands from Jayyous village to meet with the
protest coming from the Palestinian side of the fence (electrified).

31st December 2004

Morning breaks and a hummer drives past our hut as we sit outside
having breakfast. We spot soldiers watching us from behind the water
tower. The previous night we had climbed this tower to watch the
moon rise, everything had seemed so tranquil awash in the moon's
warm glow and now the hectic desperation of a fascist state despoils
this land. We had not realized how close the army was to us.

The Ta'ayush three hundred arrives with banners of peace and fifteen
security vehicles trailing them. They set about enthusiastically
planting the saplings in front of the TV cameras. There are various
sorts of police and army who arrive with the group, the normal army,
the blue uniforms of the border police, and the settler police in
white people carriers. This bunch of uniforms escorts the protest
down towards the gateway. The border police and army keep trying to
throw cordons in front of us, but the group moves around into the
olive groves hopping over dry stonewalls all the time pressing
forwards to the fence. The uniforms force the majority of the
protest back to the narrow path flowing down hill between two walls.
This leaves us with a problematic exit strategy should things turn
nasty.

About three hundred yards from the gateway the path travels up hill
and round a sharp bend where it continues along side the fence,
which splits the farm, lands from Jayyous village. We are prevented
by the security forces from continuing to the gateway to meet the
Palestinian protest, which we can see in the distance running
towards the gate. A small delegation of four from the Israeli
protest is allowed through to the village side, this includes Abu
Azzam and a woman toting an olive branch.

There are cheers as they cross and then return. At the same time as
this a donkey cart carrying two farm workers lurches along the bumpy
road through our protest. The army /border police halt the cart then
allow it to continue towards the gate. It makes its slow and
painstaking journey up the hill where the personnel of two jeeps
stationed there halt it once more. One man is asked to get down and
move away from the cart. Then once more they are allowed to
continue. They move alongside the fence this time towards the hummer
stationed one hundred yards from the gate.

They are stopped and not allowed to carry on. Myself and another
activist watch the progress of the cart with concern. Mean while the
Ta'ayush are dispersing back to their buses. A small group of us
ISMers argue with the border police who then force us towards the
buses on the other side of the quarry away from our hut. We move
deliberately only just keeping ahead of the soldiers and border
police. The road track is pitted with large puddles which we
gingerly edge around fearing the jeeps zooming through and soaking
us.

The settler police roar past the soldiers in their people carrier
soaking them, we laugh as we hear their indignant cries of "Lo! Lo!
Lo!" A sneaky activist managed to get a shot of the hopping mad wet
and muddy soldiers.

We try to return to the hut across the illegal quarry, a hummer
growls up behind us and two soldiers jump out demanding to know
where we are going. We explain that we have to get our things then
we will be leaving. " We shall escort you " say the soldiers.
"I'd rather you didn't, I don't like people with guns." I say.

They walk behind us as we clamper over rocks and thorn bushes back
to the hut. They crouch behind the water tower once more as we
settle down in plastic chairs to coffee and tangerines. I have never
eaten so many in all my life!

We await the arrival of Abu Azzam's mighty tractor replete with
trailer this time, which ferries our stuff and us to Jayyous
village. The trailer is crowded containing all eleven of us so not
much foot room. We cling on singing as we travel in to the setting
sun towards the gateway. The Swedish contingent is singing about
Pippi Longstocking and we stagger towards the soldiers. They demand
that each of us get down from the tractor. I approach them singing
the sesame street theme tune as I hand over my passport. They let us
all through and we process through the village to meet the
internationals on the Jayyous side.
We celebrate New Years Eve together in a wild fest of Pringles and
Fanta, sharing our wishes of peace for the year to come.

1st January 2005

We have decided to stay in Jayyous for another day at the request of
the villagers to help pick their olives. With the imposition of
electric fences and gateways across their land the Israelis have
granted permits for the farmers to enter their own fields, no permit
no entry. The number of permits issued is extremely limited and does
not allow for the labour needed to successfully harvest a full crop.
The olives are often left rotting on the bough. The villagers hope
that with our passports we can enter the land and help harvest the
olives.

They tell us that that gates will open at 8.00 so we split into two
groups my group will go with Mohammed's land which can be accessed
through gate 26.

We arrive. The fence is comprised of two layers, the inner
electrified the outer surrounded on either side by moats full of
looped razor wire it seems to continue on to infinity.

A sign on the outer gate says when they will open up. The times are
scrawled on the sign in marker pen and can be changed on the whim of
the army. Three lots of fifteen-minute intervals ranged throughout
the day are the only times when the villagers and only (those lucky
enough to have the rarely given special permits) can enter their own
land.

And yes the times have been changed by the evil army pixies in the
night. The morning gate opening is no longer 8.00 until 8.15 but is
now 6.00 until 6.15. We have missed the morning access point. One of
our number calls the hilariously named `humanitarian hot line' they
will not admit they are anything to do with the gate. Next we try
the emergency number, they are as helpful as a corpse and tell us we
can call whom we like but they will not help us!

A hummer stops by for some reason and tells Mohamed that the gate
will open again at 12.30. We leave for the time being but plan to
return at 12.30 to see if they are lying or not.

We return and yes you've guessed it they lied! We bang on the gate
in a improvised percussive sound experiment, and sing "let us in let
us in !"

Some children throw stones into the gully of barbed wire, this seems
to set off a sensor. Another hummer drives through the village right
up to us. They tell us that our passports will not get us through
the gate and that only those with the farmers permit will be let
through.

At 1.45 the gate opens, tractors pass, and a huge flock of sheep,
this is such a So traditionally biblical image but it is incongruous
seeing this image commonly used by Christian illustrators
everywhere, passing by an electric fence and razor wire. Two little
children herd the sheep through behind their grandfather Shepard
along the infinity of razor wire.

We are not let through. Without us Mohamed sees little point in
crossing so we return to the village feeling futile.